Battles Hard Won
by Mother Zephyr
Summary: Gregory Goyle is not what every one believes him to be. He comes back to the wizarding world after a dozen years to face old enemies and old friends. Nothing will ever be the same. Please Read and Review! Inspired by Joshua Herdman.
1. Starting Over

Battles Hard Won

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Nothing but the plot is mine!

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*****Chapter 1~Starting Over*****

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*****Goyle*****

Greg Goyle clenched his fists for the hundredth time since following Minister Weasley into Hermione Granger's office.  Greg knew she wouldn't be happy to find that he, of all people, was becoming a part of her team. His association with Draco Malfoy did little for his reputation. Since the final battle twelve years ago, he had had to fight for every ounce of respect. He was generally viewed only as one of Draco's lump-headed, brainless bookends, but he was far more than that. 

Greg's thoughts turned inward, and memories of Draco flooded to the surface. A bright spot in the pureblood hierarchy, lost so young in a final heroic act, Draco Malfoy had been his best friend since they were little children.  Although Greg hadn't found out until he was much older, his father had sold him into a sort of indentured servitude.  For 3,000 galleons a year, Greg would live with the Malfoys to be a companion and protector to Draco. This arrangement suited both families, as Greg's father had been a cruel and dispassionate man and his mother cold and unfeeling.  Greg had been much better off away from the couple that should have never had a child to begin with. The Malfoys, on the other hand, had treated Greg like a second son. Greg and Draco had been taught together by the finest tutors money could buy. The boys even had wands at the age of nine when Lucius had begun teaching them simple curses and hexes. 

Greg and Draco had been fast friends for nearly all their lives when another boy was introduced to them - Vincent Crabbe. Greg had taken an instant dislike to the fat little boy with the brush cut hair and beady little eyes.  It was soon found that the boy was far behind the other two in his basic education. It had taken time, but after a year, Vincent had finally become passable in his reading and basic arithmetic. The summer after each had turned eleven, Draco in March, Greg in May, and Vincent last in June, they had received their Hogwarts letters, and Lucius and Narcissa had taken them on a shopping spree in Diagon Alley. 

Greg remembered his first glimpse of Harry Potter, the spindly savior of the wizarding world. Greg had been in a cubicle changing out of his new school robes when he had heard Draco talking to another boy. He was small and slight like Draco, but he had the messiest, blackest hair Greg had ever seen.  His eyes were an intense green that had looked both full of wonder and sadness all at once. Greg's eyes had flicked to the boy's forehead, and he saw the scar peeking out from beneath the dark hair. The boy had left soon after

It was later on the Hogwarts Express that Greg's suspicion that the boy he had seen in Madam Malkin's was The-Boy-Who-Lived, and it was to his surprise that Potter had refused Draco's hand in friendship to befriend a Weasley no less. Greg had spent the remainder of that train ride cheering up his hurt friend as Draco had never been refused anything before, be it a new broom or simple friendship. 

People never knew that the only subject Draco excelled in was Potions.   He relied on Greg to review with him before tests in all his other classes and to help him with essays for Charms, Transfiguration, and Herbology.

Everything had changed during sixth year. Greg had received a letter commanding him to come home, his parents' home, for the Christmas holidays. A few days into the school holiday, his father gave him the not-so-wonderful news that he would be receiving the dark mark before the visit was over. He had not been able to find a way out of it, so he did the only thing in his power. He did what was expected of him. He had killed the muggle as painlessly as possible and had not made his father look bad.

He couldn't think of that night with out reliving the horror. He kept hearing the screams of a dozen muggles as a dozen young men, intent on becoming Voldemort's sycophantic followers, tortured them.

Vincent and Draco had been there along with him. Vincent's beady eyes had gleamed with malicious glee as the blood spattered onto his face. Draco had looked determined to do only what needed to be done and no more. Greg had always known that Draco didn't want this life, but in the end, Draco wanted his Father's approval most of all, and that had killed him.  Draco, in a final act of self-sacrifice that even Greg didn't know he had, had saved Harry Potter from Lucius's last curse. 

Greg had been physically ill for nearly a week after the initiation. True, he had been a bully and generally enjoyed the hollow rush of power he felt when someone shrank from him in fear, but the base cruelty he had been forced to inflict on another human soul was horrifying.  That he would be required to do it again, that it was expected of him to find satisfaction in the rape of the unwilling, made him ill. He decided he needed to find a way out, and he had by way of his head of house. Greg had always respected Severus Snape, as a teacher, a mentor, and a model DeathEater, or so Greg had thought.

Greg was suddenly brought back to the present as Hermione Granger joined the Minister of Magic and him in her office. He felt her eyes skim over him, but recognition did not. He knew he had changed, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had changed so very much from his Hogwarts days that he was unrecognizable.

"Hermione, this is Gregory Goyle. He is the new researcher I was telling you about."

Greg watched Hermione's eyes grow cold at the mention of his name. Loosing the stigma of being one of Draco's dull-witted lackeys was going to be harder than he had thought. 

"Arthur, may I have a word?" Hermione said in a voice laced with steel. 

'No,' thought Greg, 'not happy at all.'

"Hermione." The minister's voice had taken on an equal amount of steel. "This is the researcher YOU requested whose primary focus is Transfiguration and Charms. I suggest you make the best of it, Miss Granger." With a snap of his robes worthy of Severus Snape, Arthur Weasley bade Greg good-bye with a smile then strode from the room. 

With her arms folded in front of her chest Hermione Granger regarded him coolly.  "I don't like you, Goyle," she said in a clipped tone.

Greg sighed and decided to try to appeal to her sense of fairness - if she had one when it came to former DeathEaters or Slytherins.  "I am not who you think I am, Granger. I never was. Just give me a chance. That is all I'm asking here. If my work is not up to scratch, you can fire me and never have to see me again."

She pierced him with a gaze that showed every ounce of distrust she possessed. She huffed a little, then pushed away from the wall and marched out of the office. Greg assumed he was to follow.  She walked down the hall a short distance and stopped before an open door. She tapped the nameplate next to the door twice with her wand, and his name appeared, engraved by magic, in the brass plaque.

"Here is your lab. Settle in, and I'll get your first project." As she walked away, the heels of her sensible shoes clicked loudly on the hard linoleum floor.

Goyle looked around the lab; it was adequate. All the basics were there, but he would need more than a few items from his private lab.  He started a list of the items needed. 

***Crabbe*** 

A few hours later, across London, someone else was also embarking on a new chapter of his life.

He still couldn't believe that he had gotten it for such a paltry sum.  Borgin was an idiot. The dagger was the single most beautiful item he had ever owned - carved malachite handle, pulsing ruby blade - just gorgeous.  Borgin had warned Vincent that the blade was cursed and said to be the prison to a demon, but Vincent Crabbe was too enamored of the blade to care about curses and had begun carrying it everywhere with him. He didn't want to leave it in his Knockturn Alley flat where it had a very good chance of being nicked.

Tonight, he was on his way to meet some acquaintances in a seedy little pub deep in the heart of the Alley.  He walked into the pub, and fingering the blade, he joined the two other men in a small private parlor. 

"Nice knife, Vinny." Rude said drunkenly.

Something inside Vincent snapped. He grabbed the fox-like man by the collar and slammed him into the wall. "How many times do I have to tell you, Niles, not to use that stupid name? My name is Vincent." 

He stepped away from the man and looked dumbly at his fist. The knife was gripped tightly in his hand, and he dimly noticed that the blade was wet, seemingly dripping liquid rubies. He looked back up at his sometime friend Niles Rude, and his eyes widened.  A red stain had bloomed on the other man's chest over his heart. The blood was bright and stark against Rude's dirty white shirt..

The dagger grew hot in his hand, but his fist refused to obey his mind's command to open. He let out a yell as the searing heat crawled up his arm, then blossomed through his body.

_**No worries, Vincent. Kill the other one as well. It will be thought that they killed each other.**___

Vincent Crabbe narrowed his eyes, then did as the voice suggested. He plunged the knife into Jack Kinny's back as he stood gaping at the still form of Rude.__

_**Very good. Transfigure a couple of knives and put them in their hands. Then apparate back to your flat.**_

It didn't faze Vincent that he had just killed two men that he had numbered as friends. He did as the voice suggested, arranged the scene, then apparated with a small pop. 

He grabbed a bottle of fire-whiskey and drank deeply from the bottle. He sank into an armchair and tried to drink himself into oblivion, but after a few pulls from the bottle, he suddenly flung it into the hearth and fell to his knees clutching his head. Pain blossomed like a vise being tightened around his skull. He threw his head back with a roar, and his eyes settled on his reflection in the night-darkened windows. He looked just as he always had but for one thing - his eyes. 

His eyes were wild and burning red.  There was only one being that he knew that had red glowing eyes:  His Master, his Lord. 

Voldemort.

**Silly human. Tom Riddle was weak. He never had this kind of power. He never had a notion of power such as mine.**

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	2. Explainihg the Past

Warning: Later in this chapter, Crabbe's section to be precise, there is a very non-descriptive murder of a child. If this bothers you please do not read it but it was necessary.

center

**bChapter 2Explaining the Past/b**

bHermione/b /center 

Hermione looked through the window of her lab and down the hall a few doors to the door of Goyle's lab. She had to grudgingly admit that the man worked nearly as hard as she did.  He had arrived to the R&D Department before her and left long after she had given up for the night. Based on his time sheet, he was getting barely four hours of sleep each night - if that much.

Hermione added the crushed vampire fang and essence of garlic to the slowly boiling cauldron. She stirred thirteen times counter clockwise then removed it from the heat, happy to see the potion turn the deep red of heart blood.  Hermione nodded to herself and waved her wand over the cauldron, casting a stasis charm. It was time to check on Goyle's progress. 

Hermione watched him work for a few moments before making her presence known. She could feel some very thorough precautionary wards protecting the room. His movements were precise and measured, and she noted that he kept his lab neat and orderly, something she had yet to accomplish in her parchment and cauldron-strewn lab.  She also noticed, as she had on several other occasions, the presence of a Quick Quotes Quill scribbling away on some scrolls of parchment near where he was working.  The first time she looked at his notes she had checked them for an enhancement charm like the one that Skeeter woman had used in the past, but never again.  No, Goyle's notes were impeccably written just as he spoke.

An entire week and she had nothing to complain about and no reason to get rid of the evil git.

Resigned, she stepped through the door, knocking lightly. Goyle looked up, and Hermione saw, with some surprise, a pair of spectacles perched on his nose. They changed the whole look of his face. He looked gentler to her, less of the bully she remembered, and she wondered when he had gotten them since she certainly didn't remember him ever wearing them at Hogwarts.

Twenty minutes later, she was back in her office with her eyes closed, trying to unravel the enigma of Gregory Goyle. She was positive that Goyle had pulled barely passing marks when they were in school, but she always had trouble separating him from his seeming other half, Vincent Crabbe, in her memory. The quarter-hour spent in his lab had enlightened her of both him and the Cruatius Curse. He was possibly brilliant, and he worked hard for his brilliance as it certainly didn't come easy to him. Hermione couldn't help but respect that.

Hermione was snapped out of her reverie a short time later by the smiling faces of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who appeared in her office doorway in their dark blue Auror's robes.

"Ready for lunch?" Ron asked with a grin.

"Sure," Hermione answered as she rose and shrugged on her dark green robes.  She followed her friends to the apparition point in the main hall of the Ministry of Magic and, a few moments later, appeared in Diagon Alley. They walked together, laughing over the latest exploits of Fred and George.

They waved to Nevin, old Tom's nephew who had recently taken over the Leaky Cauldron for the ageing innkeeper, and slid into their regular booth in a secluded corner of the pub.

"So," Harry began with a concerned smile. "How are things going with Goyle?"

"No problems at all. He knows his subjects," Hermione said with grudging respect.  Gregory Goyle had definitely earned over the past week. "I'd still like to know more about his background - like where he has been the last dozen or so years."

"I agree," said Ron thoughtfully. "Did anyone else find it odd that he received an Order of Merlin for services to the Ministry when the war ended? Why would Goyle, of all people, be given an honor like that? I haven't been able to find any details in the law enforcement archives."

Harry looked at the tabletop before speaking, "I spoke to Snape.  If anyone would know about Goyle, it would be his former Head of House, correct?" Harry gave them a rueful grin, "Well, after a serious amount of dancing around the question, Snape alluded to the second spy."

Hermione was shocked.  The second spy was Goyle?  It was Ron, however, who voiced her silent incredulity.

"Goyle? Deatheater-and-Draco's-bodyguard Goyle? A spy? You must be joking Harry." Ron said softly.

Harry nodded. "Then Snape shut down completely. Told me, and I quote that, unless I was conducting an official investigation into Gregory Goyle's activities during the war, I should remove my bothersome Gryffindor arse from his laboratory and ask Goyle myself."

Hermione was pensive for a few moments before speaking. "Maybe we should," she began.

"Should what?" Ron asked dully.

"Ask Goyle. I mean, what have we got to lose?" Hermione was quickly warming to the idea. "At best, he'll be offended and quit, and at worst, he'll hex us on the way out."

Later they would say that their thirst for the truth got the better of them, but at that moment, the Golden Trio was back and was ever a force to be reckoned with. Ten minutes later, they were hovering outside Goyle's lab, where they found him taking a short break and absently eating a sandwich as he bent once more over the enormous book sitting on the counter.

**bGoyle/b**

Greg heard a light tapping on his door and looked up.  His eyes narrowed at the sight of the three former Gryffindors darkening his door.  Greg rolled his eyes inwardly. 'Do those three ever do anything alone?' he thought to himself.

"Yes, Ms. Granger? How may I help you?" he asked softly, pointedly ignoring the presence of Potter and the Weasel. 

"Goyle," Hermione began in a serious tone, "I'll be blunt. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Greg had known this was coming from the first day he began working for the former Gryffindor Head Girl. "So," he said suspiciously, "what exactly would you like to know?"

"What did you do to get the Order of Merlin?"

Granger rolled her eyes and lightly smacked Weasley on the shoulder.  "So much for subtle, Ron."

The fire-haired Auror scowled at Granger before turning back to Greg with an expectant look.  Scarhead, Greg smiled slightly at the memory of Draco's nickname for Potter, had been silent thus far, observing everything with his disconcerting green eyes.

Greg sighed as he closed the book he had been researching and shut his eyes, battling the urge to fall prey to the images of the war and the faces of his own victims that raced through his mind. "I received the Order of Merlin Second Class for services to the Ministry, but if you must know, it was for my work as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Severus recruited me during sixth year, just after I received the Dark Mark."

"Do you still have it? The mark, I mean." Granger asked, her damnable curiosity getting the better of manners.

With deliberate slowness, Greg shrugged out of his work robes and unbuttoned his left shirt cuff. He neatly rolled his sleeve to his elbow and held out his forearm for the Golden Trio's perusal.

"It has faded to near nothing, but it will always be there like an indelible stain on my soul." Greg held their gazes until his last words, and then his eyes dropped to the table, guilt and remorse taking over.

Granger's voice was soft as she spoke after a moment's silence.  "Is that why you disappeared for a dozen years?"

Goyle nodded silently.  He looked up, knowing his eyes were haunted. "I had to come to terms with some of the things I did while serving the Order. The ghosts of my victims revisit me still, and they always will."

He dropped his eyes back to his hands resting on the scarred worktable. He could still see, if only in his mind's eye, the blood of the innocent on his hands. It was the kind of stain that you couldn't wash away.  It would never wear away.

"Cut the act, Goyle," Weasley snapped angrily. "We all had to do things we regret. We did what we had to do to win, to defeat V-Voldemort."

"Ron!" Granger and Potter shouted in the same instant.

Greg's head shot up, and he pierced Weasley with a glare of loathing as anger boiled up within him.  He slammed his fist down on the worktable. He was beyond incensed. "You have no idea, Weasley, of what I had to do!  While you three were tucked safely away at headquarters, I was going on raids. I had to prove my loyalty every time I was summoned for a new mission."  Greg stood up suddenly and a few short steps brought him nearly nose to nose with the guileless auror. "Tell me something, Weasley. How many girls did you have to rape while a member of the Order? How many children did you kill in their beds as they clung to their teddies? Could you have done it? Could you? And lived with yourself afterwards?"

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to plow his fist into Weasley's gobsmacked face, but instead he turned and stalked silently out of the room. He walked until he found himself standing in the atrium in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He stared a long time into the rippling water and didn't move when he felt a touch on his arm.  He was surprised when he heard Granger's voice.

"I'm sorry about Ron," she said softly. "I only know of one other person who did what you had to do, and he didn't get out of it unscathed either, but he has always had my respect. I'm sorry that I have treated you so poorly, Goyle.  Take the rest of the afternoon off.  I hope that on Monday morning we can start over."

Greg nodded silently and felt her touch his arm again before she moved away. He couldn't say how long he stood there staring into the water, but before he left, he dug into the pocket of his trousers and tossed every galleon, sickle, and knut he had with him into the fountain.

**bCrabbe/b**

_iVincent…/i_

Vincent Crabbe rolled over in his sleep and pulled his blanket tighter around his bulky frame. His brow furrowed a bit but then relaxed once more as he snored particularly loudly.

_iVincent! Wake up, you lazy, ignorant arse! /i_

With a snort, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and wondered what the knife wanted now.

_iWhat do I want Vincent? I want to show my self to you. Would you like that, Vincent? Would you like to see whom you now serve? /i_

After a moment's thought, Vincent nodded mutely. It would be some time before he woke up enough for coherent speech.

_iVincent I need you to help me. The blood of an innocent will free me. Can you do that, Vincent? /i_

Again Vincent nodded mutely before he moved to pull his trousers back on and shove his feet into his shoes. He threw his old DeathEater robe on over his pajama top and slipped the knife into an inner pocket as he disapparated.

He appeared outside a muggle home. With a silencing charm, he stole inside and crept up the staircase. He looked into each room until he found the child's room. He walked to the side of the bed, and with a flick of his wand, he locked the door and cast another silencing charm on the room. He looked down on the sleeping child and a mad grin bled over his face.

It was a little girl no more than seven years old. Dark ringlets surrounded her face, and his fingers itched to touch her little body. His fingers brushed over her pink heart-covered panties.

_iInnocent, Vincent. Blood of an innocent. Soon you will be able to rape to your heart's content. Tonight she must be innocent. /i_

With a wistful sigh, Vincent nodded and retrieved the knife from his robe pocket. He covered the girl's nose and mouth with his grimy hand and smiled as she came awake. He felt his cock harden as the fear gathered in her eyes. He kissed the girl-child roughly and thrust his tongue into her little mouth.  He pulled away and plunged the knife into her chest. Once. Twice. Three times the knife descended into the little body.

The knife began to vibrate in his hand, and the blade began to glow a bright, hot red. The ruby blade exploded, jagged pieces of the precious stone slicing into Vincent's skin, as a black mist streamed in to the room.  The mist dissipated, and Vincent looked around for his new master, but found no one else in the room.

"What is the matter, Vincent? Don't I look like you imagined?"  A moment later, the voice became harsh and angry. "Down here, you buffoon."

I know that was kinda a bad cliffhanger but ah well it will just keep you coming back right? More next chapter on the Baddie of the Knife.

Thank you to all my reviewers including Malice, Tarotgoddess7, DemonQueen17, Talene!

Hawklaw- I totally agree… As to where I'm taking this welll… hmmm I am going to be really evil and say you'll just have to keep reading to find out!

Lintasare- Thank you again so much I am glad you like them!

Deblovesdragon- I think there will be some romance later definite friendship to begin with but romance will take a while. Greg still has a huge number of issues he has to work through before he will let himself love or be loved. Ahh well as with anything I write I and the Muse's bitch and I write what she wants and right now Wish and Stealing are not it.. hopefully soon though.

GrrArrg-Thank you so much love. I think she is already beginning to learn that there is more to Greg than what she thought.

Hunnypeach-Smile thank you so much! Here is our little creation starting to come alive more next chapter


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